In the days that followed, Julianna wrote her dozens of letters, but as one lonely month drifted into another, the empty monotony of her life provided little worth writing about. The sleepy little village of Blintonfield remained the boundary of her world, and so she filled her time with reading and secret dreams of going off to London when she received her inheritance at eighteen. There she would meet interesting people and visit museums while she worked diligently on her writing. When she sold some of her work, she would bring her two little brothers to London often, so they could broaden their knowledge and share the wonders of the world beyond their little village.

After a few attempts to share this dream with her mama, Julianna realized it was wiser to say nothing because her mother was horrified and annoyed by the whole idea. "It’s beyond considering, dear. Respectable, unmarried young ladies do not live alone, particularly in London. Your reputation would be ruined, completely ruined!" She was no more enthusiastic about any mention of books or writing. Lady Skeffington’s interest in reading material was limited exclusively to the Society pages of the daily papers, where she religiously followed the doings of the Ton. She considered Julianna's fascination with history and philosophy and her desire to become an author almost as appalling as Julianna’s wish to live on her own in London. "Gentlemen do not like a female who is too clever, dear," she warned repeatedly. "You're entirely too bookish. If you don’t learn to keep all this fustian about philosophy to yourself, your chances of receiving a marriage offer from any truly eligible gentlemen will be ruined!"

Until a few months before the masquerade ball, the subject of a London Season for Julianna had never been discussed as a possibility.

Although Julianna's father was a baronet, his ancestors had long before squandered whatever modest fortune and lands that went with the title. His only legacy from his forebears was a thoroughly amiable and placid disposition that enabled him to ignore all of life’s difficulties and a great fondness for wine and spirits. He had no desire to leave his favorite chair, let alone the secluded little village that was his birthplace. He was, however, not proof against his wife's determination, nor her ambitions for their little family.